


Finally, Home

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6651412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver struggles with his new domestic arrangement, and gets a bit of relationship advice from his big bro.  With a side of teasing, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finally, Home

The door is flung wide, and Merrill stands there, beaming.  “Hello, you three!  Come in, come in!”  She stands aside, welcoming Hawke, Anders and Fenris into the apartment, and asks, “How do you like it?”  

Hawke can hear the smile in her tone.  It’s a lovely old building this one, well maintained.  Carver had said that the lease agreement was a good one too, and the neighbourhood is certainly better than the one that he and Merrill had come from.  With the inclusion of Isabela into their relationship on a permanent basis, a larger apartment had been in order - and it seemed they had lucked out.  Good location, nice building… and a place which seems to reflect  the joyful chaos that he’s come to expect of his brothers partners.

 

Hawke grins around the space, then bends to kiss Merrill’s cheek.  He looks at Fenris, who raises his eyebrows as he’s being embraced by Merrill.  “It’s very… you three,” Anders remarks, in what Hawke knows to be his most diplomatic tone of voice, and Merrill giggles.  “Ooh, yes.  I just like how…well... weird it is!  Donnic called it eclectic-modern last week when he and Aveline came over, but I don’t know about that.”  She shrugs her shoulders slightly and rubs her hands together.  “Would you all like something to drink?”

“They can get it themselves, kitten.  Kitchen’s through there, boys.”  Isabela stands in the doorway, smiling.  “Help yourselves.  We’re all family here.”

 

“Hello, Izzy!  Boy, I should hope not, with the things we’ve done to each other,” Hawke smirks.  Fenris chuckles softly, walking to where Isabela stands. He’s been examining an item in the shelving ranged across one wall - strange antiques, wooden carvings and scrimshaw all vie for space with books.  Anders rolls his eyes, and gestures with one hand over his shoulder.  “Hi Isabela.  Is it just here..?”

“Yes, come with me, I don’t feel right just leaving you to your own devices in there…” Merrill laughs, and goes with Anders through to what is, supposedly, the kitchen.  The apartment is redolent with the smell of spices and garlic, freshly baked bread and Hawke’s mouth waters.  “No sign of the boy yet then?” he asks Isabela, who shakes her head.

 

“Nope.”  She sighs, looks away from him.  “He’s been working too hard, lately.  Hello, darling,” she says to Fenris, and kisses his cheek.  “Eurgh, that was stubbly.  You haven’t been taking lessons from your two scruffs, have you?  I don’t think I approve at all.”

“And when was the last time I needed your approval for anything, Isabela?” Fenris asks quietly, smiling at her, and she laughs.  “Touché!  Oh well, you’ve got a long way to plumb the depths to this one’s standards at least.”  She gestures at Hawke, and grins cheekily at him.  He smiles, and bows slightly, then frowns and rubs his chin, thinking of his brother.

 

The room is quiet for a beat, then Hawke says musingly, “That’s not like him.  Working hard, I mean.  Hardly working, I could see it, but…”

Isabela laughs, but it is perfunctory.  “That’s what he says he’s doing.  And he certainly comes home late, and worried looking and…”  But she cuts herself off, and waves the thought away. “It’s probably nothing.  High tide, low tide, right?”  She laughs again, and Fenris and Hawke share a look - Isabela is hiding something, or trying to.  “Hey,” Hawke says, “Look, stop me if it’s none of my business, but…”

“Izzy!  Izzy!  Anders says that Lady Whisker-Lickins is pregnant!  And we can have a kitten if the lease and Carver say yes!”  Merrill barrels out of the kitchen and flies to Isabela, wrapping her arms around the other woman and beaming up at her, “Oh please, oh please, can we?  If Carver says yes?  Oh please say yes!”

“Oh Makers Arse,  _ Anders! _ ” Isabela bellows good naturedly at Anders, who has appeared in the kitchen doorway, grinning bashfully.  “I only offered, Isabela,” he says, putting his hands wide.  

Isabela shakes her head.  “Andraste’s diamante diaphragm,” she moans, looking down at Merrill, who is still looking up at her, eyes wide with appeal, “You know I can never say no to you.  A kitten for my kitten,”  she sighs and smiles and shakes her head again.

  
  
  


Finally, Merrill decrees that they can wait no longer.  “It’s gonna go all  _ dry _ ,” she laments, “and the poor baby will have to put his dinner in the microwave again.  Spongy and _ dry _ .”  She sighs, and lays a fork down on the bright yellow and orange patterned tablecloth.  There is a basket of bread already in the middle, and little bottles and jars of so many condiments that Hawke doubts that he’d know the names and uses for them even if he did have the time to study them all.  He puts a knife down opposite where Merrill has laid her fork and asks, “What’s up with Carv, Merry?”  

 

Merrill’s look is all he needs as confirmation - there’s more here.  She hesitates for a second, then shakes her head.  They hear Fenris and Anders laughing from the living room and Isabela’s voice saying something loudly about  _ nine really big ones _ , and Hawke smiles briefly.  “I think… I think he still feels weird, y’know?  I think it’s one thing for you to do it, y’know, be with more than one person… but… quite another for him.”  She swallows, laying another fork on the table, twirling it around on the tablecloth before labouring over its straightness.  Hawke is silent, allowing her to continue if she wants to.  After another long pause, Merrill says, “I think maybe he feels… disloyal, or something? To me, maybe?  But since we moved in with Izzy, started this… experiment, I suppose… It was never a problem in the past, y’know, when she lived in a different place.  But now he feels… distant to me, like he’s struggling.  And I mean, part of that is work.  It has been way busy, far busier than ever before.  But…” she sighs and looks up at Hawke, and he sees her eyes are brimming with tears.  “We’re not making it any easier on him.  And I just…”  She tails off and laughs, miserably, putting the last fork down on the table.

 

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Hawke asks, and she shakes her head vigorously.  

“No, no.  I’m sure it’d just make things worse.  And I’m probably overreacting anyway.  But… I… maybe you could sound him out?  Gently?”

Hawke nods, and is quiet for a moment.  They hear the front door open and close, and loud exclamations of greeting from the living room.  Then Carver’s voice, tired, happy, lamenting the traffic, apologising for the lateness.  Hawke grins at Merrill and winks, noting the way her attention is wholly gone from him - it is all focussed on the sound of Carver’s voice, and he delights in the way they are still so much in love.  “Sure,” he tells her, “But it’d be easier just to tickle him into submission the way I used to do when we were kids.”

 

There is a heavy tread through the kitchen, and then Carver appears at the doorway.  Merrill flies into his arms with a happy squeal, and he grins and kisses the top of her head.  “You can just fuck off,” he tells Hawke, “It takes more than a bit of a tickle to get me to cave these days.”

“Sounds like a challenge, baby bro,” Hawke laughs, and when Merrill steps away, embraces his brother.  He notes unhappily that Carver seems a little thinner and a lot more tired than the last time they saw each other, about six weeks ago.  Still, stress’ll do that.  He pastes his smile back into place and asks his brother as they release each other, “How’re you living, kid?”

 

“Still livin’,” Carver replies, and asks, “What’s for dinner, Merry?  Smells amazing.”

She giggles and says, “Not long to wait.  I’m just going to dish up now.  Then you can have a lovely surprise!”  She beams and swans past them both, back through to the kitchen.  They hear her singing, something about  _ happy  _ and  _ dinnertime _ and  _ Car-ver, Car-ver, Car-ver’s home, loopdy-lee, loop-dee lah!   _ Hawke looks at his brother, sees the fondness in his gaze, and smiles.

  
  


There is a light rain falling outside.  The low murmur of Anders and Merrill’s conversation burbles quietly from the enclosed patio off the dining room and Hawke leans back in his chair, rubbing his stomach.  “Sweet Andraste’s balconette bra,” he sighs, “That was superb.  How are you not overweight, Carv?  Eating like that every night?”

Carver laughs quietly.  “Dunno,” he says, shaking his head.  There is the clank and whiiiisssh of taps from the kitchen, and a loud crack.  “You shit!” Isabela laughs, “That really hurt!”  

Laughter, and splashing, and Hawke yells, “Do I need to come in there and sort you two out?”

“No,” Fenris and Isabela chorus like naughty children, and then he hears them giggling quietly.  

“Little shits,” he says, and Carver grins and nods.  

“Worse than kids,” he laughs, and then rubs a hand over his eyes and yawns, one elbow coming to rest on the table.  He yawns again, smothering it with the back of one hand, then looks at Hawke warily.  “Go on then.  Say what you gotta say.”

 

Hawke sighs.  There is no point beating about the bush; so he says, “Carv, what’s up?”

“It’s just work shit,” Carver says promptly - a little too promptly.  It sounds well rehearsed, this lie, but it’s certainly a lie.  Hawke scrunches his lips together and tries to put his thoughts in order.  Carver studies him, shakes his head, and says tiredly, “I can tell you’re not convinced.  Say it then. Whatever it is you’ve been stewing over.”

 

“Yeah, okay.  Carv…” But here he hesitates.  Hawke knows what it is to have your relationship under scrutiny - the inane questions, the seemingly interminable loop of other people’s judgements.  He takes a deep breath and rushes on before he can second guess himself too dramatically.  “Carv, buddy… are you alright?”

“Yeah.  Told you.  It’s just work.”

“Work doesn’t make you look like that.  Honestly, you look like microwaved shit, dude.  We never go this long without seeing each other.  Merry’s worried,  _ Izzy _ ’s worried, and you know she plays that shit close to her chest, baby bro, so if I can tell, then she’s about ready to puke.  C’mon, kid.  Out with it.”

 

Carver sighs and toys with his knife.  He doesn’t look up at Hawke, just mutters into his plate, “It is work shit, or most of it.  It’s just…” He pauses, looks at Hawke sharply, then just as quickly drops his gaze again.  “Nah.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh… unless you hadn’t noticed, we’re a bit past that.  I _am_ worried, dipshit.  C’mon, Carv, time to ‘fess up.”  He clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes, “Someone giving you shit?”

 

“No, Tal, no.  Look, its…”  Carver pauses again, takes a deep breath and looks around himself.  “It’s… this,” he says in a low voice, almost as if he is afraid to be overheard.  From the kitchen, there is the sound of industry, and Hawke can hear the sound of Merrill excitedly talking from the patio.  “How do you do it, man?  I can’t get my head around how all this is supposed to work.  Like… Merrill seems like she’s never been happier, since Izzy moved in, and I’m just… I mean, what if she decides she likes… what if she decides she likes her more?  And I mean… the sex is fun… but… I get real jealous, Tal.  I don’t want her to have more fun with Izzy than she does with me.”  Carver looks at Hawke, utterly miserable, and sighs.  

 

Hawke puts his own chin on his hand, and they simply look at each other across the dining room table for a long moment.  “Buddy,” Hawke finally says, “Oh, buddy.  Look, you gotta talk to them.  You had a talk, right, before you got into this?” Carver nods, still miserable, and Hawke feels his heart contract.  He knows, better than most, how this song goes.  “It ain’t easy, dude.  But good stuff never is.  If it’s worth it, it’ll work out, and I know how fuckin’ trite that sounds, and simplistic, but you have to work at it.  And that means talking to them.  You can’t just bury yourself in work and hope that this’ll all blow over.  Merry’s pretty perceptive, and Izzy’s no slouch in that department either.  They know something’s up.”  Hawke grins at his brother, and tells him, “You’re not exactly subtle when you’ve got something on your mind.”  He sighs and scratches his head, searching for the right words.  Finally, he says, “Carv, just because me and Fen and Anders have been doing this for a while, doesn’t mean we don’t still get weird on each other occasionally…”

 

Carver smirks at that and looks at Hawke.  “Less said about that, the better thanks.  I’d like to keep my dinner where it is.”

Hawke grins at him.  “Fuck off.  You’re a big boy now.  You know how that all works.  Or would you prefer I draw you a series of lovingly detailed illustrations?”

Carver snorts a laugh and mimes sticking his finger down his throat, pretending to throw up.  Hawke smiles and then sobers.  “You gotta talk, man.  And you know what?”  Quickly, he reaches across the table, takes Carver’s hand and grips it hard.  “You’re my baby bro.  You deserve to be happy.  Maybe this’ll work - maybe you’ll talk and it won’t.  But whatever happens, you’ll always have me.  I love you, you big dork.”

  
Carver’s bottom lip wobbles slightly, and he huffs out a breath.  “Fuck you, Taliesin,” he says quietly, and squeezes Hawke’s hand in return.  His eyes shine in the warm light, as the sound of laughter echoes out and back to them.  Hawke grins, feeling that fearsome, protective love constrict his lungs as he looks at his brother.  He smiles.  “Fuck you too, baby bro.”


End file.
